Gibbs Talks More Than You Think
by dweenamarie
Summary: Tony and Gibbs have a heart-to-heart weekend; some well-kept secrets come to light.


Gibbs's hands slowed to a stop, but it was a moment before he could bring himself to release the sander. Blinking the sawdust out of his eyes, he reached for the jar of bourbon that sat near him. He kept it there, just out of reach, but drinking and working on the boat were more than just two aspects of the same thing. The drink was a backup, to which he resorted only when he got so engrossed in the work that he was in danger of overdoing it. More than once tonight, it had saved him from sanding too far and having to redo the whole rib to even out the curve. He took a slow, grateful sip, relishing its calm strength. No matter how bad things got, he would always have his two B's; boats and bourbon. The second B was never for bastard, he reflected, although he'd gotten used to the taunts about his name long before his personality became so reclusive. Of all the combinations he'd heard, Shannon's was still the best. When he'd told her how the kids made fun of his name, she'd replied only, "Giving In Better Be Special."

Tony hesitated on the front step. Sure, the Boss had said his door was always open, but at three in the morning? No one actually welcomed company at this hour! He was about to turn away, bowing his head in dejection, when he realized he had nowhere to go. The bars were closed, his bedmate of the last month had kicked him out, and returning to his apartment would only mean dreaming those horrible nightmares from which he never woke up in time. He put his hand on the doorknob, steeling himself to face an irritated, half-asleep Gibbs.

Gibbs looked around as he detected the movement of the front door. Very few people ever took him up on his offer to share his home, and if someone was here this late there had to be something wrong. He relaxed when he saw DiNozzo's shoes appear at the top of the steps. With Tony, wrong usually meant confusion and uncertainty. If he were physically hurt, he wouldn't be here. Turning his back to the younger agent, letting him set the tone, he set the sander on the tool bench and picked up a damp cloth and a brush. As he carefully swept up the worst of the sawdust, he tried not to flick it into the air where it would irritate his agent's lungs.

Tony stopped at the top of the stairs, undecided. He shouldn't be here. If Gibbs found out, he might kick him off the team. He'd get Vance to send him Afloat again, or oust him completely. He couldn't handle that; he loved working at NCIS. It had been bad enough when the cops in Baltimore turned on him, and he'd only had one or two friends among them; most of them hadn't liked him at all.

Gibbs set the cloth and brush down again, realizing how uncertain Tony was. "Are you coming down, DiNozzo?" He kept his voice even, still in Boss-mode, until Tony came down the stairs. About four steps up from the bottom, he stopped and sat down. Gibbs shook his head, switching to Jethro-mode. He snagged two sawhorses and set them in front of the workbench. Laying a board across them, he sat on it and tucked his heels under for balance as he leaned forward on his arms. He'd purposefully placed himself directly in front of Tony, knowing that moving to his side later would break down the younger man's emotional walls if things got too intense.

"DiNozzo?" He paused, watching to see how much Tony could handle at the moment. He decided to back off just a little. "Tony. What's going on with you?"

Tony looked up, trying to put on his usual mask to hide the fear in his eyes. "Nothing, Boss. I just wanted to see your boat." He turned his face away, keeping up the charade.

Jethro didn't call him on it, settling instead on clarifying his concern. "I'm not talking about why you're here. I'm talking about you. You're not acting like yourself. Let me rephrase that. You're not _acting_. Like yourself." He waited for the subtlety to sink in. "You're not flirting with the girls, you're not making fun of McGee, and you're not going out of your way to piss me off with those damn movie references."

Tony turned to face him again, and he was surprised to see the shine of unshed tears in the young man's face. Screw intensity, he thought, pushing himself off the makeshift bench and feeling his heart pinch at Tony's automatic wince. He joined Tony on the stairs, putting a protective arm over his agent's shoulders.

Tony just shook his head. He didn't know how to begin. There were so many things he needed to talk about, so many things that had to stay buried for his own sanity, and more that he couldn't place in either category. His resolve failed and the tears that had gathered in his eyes when he saw Gibbs working on the boat crept down his eyelashes.

Jethro kept his hold on Tony's shoulders as he stood up, pulling the younger man with him. He turned them around as one, slowly guiding Tony up the stairs and turning out the light on his way. He wasn't going to need the boat or the bourbon tonight.

Jethro led Tony gently to the bedroom, sitting him on the edge of the bed. The kind of conversation this was looking to be wasn't meant for basement steps or living room couches, or even kitchen tables. Tony needed to be where he felt protected, where there would be no unwelcome interruptions. A flicker of concern crossed his brow when Tony hesitated as they entered the room, but Tony appeared to shake it off easily.

"Tony, talk to me. One thing at a time, whatever you want." When he didn't respond, Jethro realized it was partly the word itself that was bothering him. He didn't want to talk. He wanted to be understood. Well, Jethro could show him he already was.

"What's been troubling you, Tony?" He began to babble, worse than Ducky, but at least he knew what he was saying. He danced around the important topics for a while, waiting for Tony's emotions to take over. "All your reports are done on time. You don't throw paper snowballs at Ziva. You don't correct her English. You don't call McGee names. You haven't eaten pizza in two weeks. You come to work early, you leave late. You don't make up excuses to visit Abby, you don't go out for drinks after work. I haven't even heard you quote one movie this week." After listing all of these inconsequential observations, he decided it was time to start digging.

"Tony, why are you being different? You know we appreciate you; we like you the way you are. You don't have to change for us, you know." Then his gut twisted. "Tony, what is it you're afraid to tell us?" he whispered.

In the long silence that followed, Tony sighed. He finally found a way to start this conversation. "There's a reason I'm so good undercover." He left it at that, trying to feel out how much Jethro already knew.

Jethro only nodded. He had learned early not to show surprise when Tony allowed himself to be vulnerable. "Undercover work takes practice. There is no such thing as a natural liar, even if that's what everyone thinks you are. I know you; I know that you excelled undercover even before you became a cop. The expression on your face gave you away, even if I was the only one who saw it. You have two masks, Tony. One you wear nearly all the time, and the other one you bring out only when you need it. I knew the first time you came back from an undercover op. and you still wore the same mask. No one can mesh undercover with real life. Your real life _is_ undercover." He took Tony's hand, curling the fingers to the palm and wrapping his own over them. "You can't live like that forever, Tony. I don't know what it is you're hiding from everyone, but if you keep it to yourself it's going to hurt you. I know that from experience. Why do you think the second-best way to keep a secret is to tell one other person?"

"But there is no third-best." The statement was flat, completely devoid of inflection.

"I take it you've already tried the second-best way." Jethro matched Tony's monotone voice, then let his concern show through. "Once you tell a third person, it's no longer a secret. That's not a bad thing. The danger of secrets is that they can destroy you without leaving anyone to help you. Cancel the secret, and you become that much safer. Can you tell me what's bothering you?"

"I got dumped." Tony's voice was so bleak that Jethro knew better than to make a joke. He waited, suspecting there was more to the problem than lost love. He was proven right when Tony finally continued, "and I'm not sure if I'm upset or not. I've always. . .I used to feel hurt, or lonely, or. . .or something. It's like it doesn't matter anymore. I don't feel anything, and . . .I'm just. . .I'm scared."

"Oh, Tony." Jethro held him closer, embracing him just as he had once dreamed of holding his daughter through her teenage years. This was more complicated than he thought, he realized, as Tony turned his face away. "Tony? I know what you're going through. I know how much it matters to understand yourself, and I know how frightening it is to realize you feel numb about something that you believe should turn your world upside down." He thought back, silently repeating Tony's words. "You said you used to feel hurt or lonely. What's changed?"

There was a moment of silence, before Tony ducked his head further. "I can't answer that."

"Okay." He started off on a parallel track. "How far back is 'used to'? Where were you as a cop?"

"Baltimore. About a month before we met."

"Your feelings then; were they confined to your personal life or were they in some way connected to your work?"

"My partner at work was there for me, but I never thought he could really understand what I needed. He wanted me to take some time off."

Jethro took a chance, letting his friend hear a hint of his own past in his voice. "Does your coming here have anything to do with asking me to let you throw yourself into the job?"

"I didn't have to ask; you know I'm already doing that. It's just not helping this time." There was a hint of shame in Tony's voice, and more than a little fear. "But. . ."

After a moment, Jethro provided the words he thought Tony might be searching for. "Is it the job you need, or the company? Or something else?"

"Company helps." He trailed off, leaving Jethro to wonder if there was something else he could do.

"Tony? There is something you're not telling me, isn't there?"

"I'm not sure if I really loved her. I mean, how could I love her when. . .when I'm thinking about. . .someone else?"

"This someone else," Jethro began. "Do they know how you feel?" He'd been about to say, 'does she,' but it didn't feel right.

"I don't know." A hint of tears rose in Tony's voice, but he fought them back.

"Do you think you would have a chance, if they knew?"

"I. . .I'm not sure if. . .if _he_ would have a chance with me." The clarification, while logical, said much more about his confusion than a simpler answer could have.

He reached out and brought the man's gaze back. Looking into those sorrowful green eyes, he shook his head. "You were afraid to tell me that you loved a man? How could you think I would be angry with you for that?"

Tony shook his head, frustrated. "Not angry. I didn't. . .I don't. . ." He couldn't find the words to explain what he felt.

A look of understanding crossed Jethro's face, but he knew Tony missed it. "You were afraid to tell me, though. Weren't you?" Tony still appeared confused by the conflict within himself, so he went on. "Let me find some scenarios for you. Okay, here's one; you tell me, and I ignore it and tell you to keep your personal life away from work and it won't bother me. Or, I laugh at you and recite your dating stories. Tony, none of that is going to happen. You know that, in your heart. I don't think you realize, though, what you were most afraid of. Tony, look at me." He waited until Tony did so. "Were you afraid that I would be ashamed of you?" There was no response, but he knew he was right. "Tony, have you ever been attracted to a man before now?"

The tears that gathered in Tony's eyes as he buried his face in his hands were answer enough. He tipped the wet face up again with a finger under his trembling chin, then let it drop when he saw how hard it was for Tony to look him in the eye.

"It's frightening to think that you don't understand something as important as love, isn't it?" The rhetorical question was meant more as a comisseration than as a conversation starter. "It does not mean that you have been living a lie." He had to be firm on that point, knowing that Tony's sense of integrity depended on it. "A person's love can change, whether it means finding new love after breaking off a relationship or it means loving someone you never expected to. The important thing is that you stay true to your heart." He stopped, leaving the silence open until Tony gathered the courage to ask a question.

"When did you realize. . . ?"

"That love applies to anyone? I've known for years. There's nothing wrong about it." He pulled the young man back onto the pillows, still holding him in his arms. "It doesn't make you a freak. You're not a predator that hunts people down just because they're male. Even if you do have different tastes, the important thing is that you still rely on love." He paused, deciding to go for blunt honesty. "Tony, you don't have to be afraid of me. I know you're worried that this will affect our friendship, but I know you. I know you for who you are, and that's all I could ever ask." The confusion on Tony's face was clear. "I want you to know that, while it never bothered me that you flirted with almost anyone, I didn't like to see you cheapen yourself like you always did." Deciding it was high time Tony knew how he felt, he continued. "Tony, you've been my family ever since I met you. Nothing hurt me more than knowing you were still looking for that once-in-a-lifetime love. True love certainly involves misunderstandings and heartache and everything else, but it also comes with such joy and happiness that it feels like cutting out a piece of your soul when you realize that someone you care for is missing out on that joy. Some people would say that kind of love is reserved for two people who find the one love of their life, but I have felt love that strong many times. Of all the people I loved so much, I would say that I would die for them. I have come close to doing so. Only twice, however, have I felt that I would betray my principles and my soul for someone. Once was when my first wife and my only daughter were killed. The other was when Kate was killed, and the only thing we could do was catch Ari. Now, I find that I feel the same way about you."

Jethro paused, silent for a moment. "Tony," he said softly, as he thought of the one thing the boy really needed to hear. "The only difference between a heterosexual man and a homosexual man is the choice of partner," he continued, keeping his voice low to hide the way it caught in his throat. "The love you feel is just as strong, just as confusing, and just as real as the love a man and a woman can feel for each other. It still comes straight from the heart; it's just that love is so much a part of who people are that they stop there. They forget that what comes from the heart is love and so much more. It's loyalty, and friendship, and family; sadness, anger, and pain. It's attacking and defending, jealousy and generosity, gaining and losing, holding on and forgetting, living and dying; it's everything. And it's that everything that makes someone who they are. You don't need to define it to make it real."

Tony didn't know what he had expected from Jethro. Whatever he might have thought, he definitely hadn't anticipated the emotional speech he'd just heard and certainly not this total, soul-deep acceptance. He turned to Jethro, but looked away when he caught himself staring.

Jethro chuckled slightly, aware that Tony was surprised. "You're not the only one who hides who you really are, Tony, and not just for the sake of your job." He sensed that Tony needed a break from having his sheltered soul examined so intensely. "Do you know what it would cost me if the team knew me as the spontaneous, pillow-fighting, picnics-in-the-park romantic that I hide from them?" Tony just shook his head, not understanding. "I had a family, Tony. I had a wife and a daughter, both as beautiful as anything in the world and I loved them both with all my heart. I was on deployment during Desert Storm when they were killed. While I don't share that with many people, I haven't kept it a secret. I talk to my father, and Shannon's mother, whenever I need to and I listen to them when they need me. It's safer that way." By bringing the topic back to secrets, he let Tony know that he could share his own without judgement.

He bit his lip. "My apartment, it's. . .it's not good for me right now."

"Tony?" No answer. "Tony, you're not sleeping, are you." It wasn't really a question, but it was less threatening than the alternative phrase, which would have been 'are you having nightmares?'

"No." The eventual response was defeated.

"Do you feel safe in your apartment?"

"I don't know." He was honest. It had been a long time since he was comfortable there, but he didn't quite know why.

"Then stay here this weekend." It was not a casual offer; they both knew that. It was an invitation born of genuine concern.

"Thank you." He was silent for a minute, but Jethro waited. "Can I stay in here?" His voice was low, hesitant, and Jethro almost missed the question.

"Can you tell me why?" He wanted to determine whether the younger man knew how to interpret the effect recent events had been having on his emotional state.

"What do you mean?"

Apparently not. "Not tonight. I'll explain in the morning." He stood up. "Take these" he suggested - not instructed - as he pulled a pair of flannel pyjamas from a drawer. "I'll be back in about five minutes." He was about to leave the room when he realized Tony was still hesitant. Returning to the side of the bed, he sat down again and pulled Tony close with an arm around his shoulders. "In the morning, Tony; let it go until then." He tucked Tony's head down to rest on his raised arm, laying his own head on top to keep the younger man where he was. As enigmatic as the embrace may have been, it was for both of them the most vulnerability they were prepared to handle.

After a minute or two, Jethro stood up again. "Change your clothes, Tony." He left the room, pulling the door nearly closed behind himself, and returned to the basement. When he came back up the stairs, his closed fist concealed one of his most cherished possessions. He plucked another out of his coat pocket as he passed it in the hall.

Jethro tapped softly on the doorjamb. As he expected, there was no answer. He waited. Almost a full minute later, Tony nudged the door open a little more. "Sorry, Boss. I . . .I'm not sure. . .if I should. . ." After a few false starts, he just gave up and stood silently.

"Go to bed, Tony." Jethro walked over to the bed and turned down the covers. "We'll talk in the morning, I promise." He returned to the door, pushing it almost closed and flicking off the lights. With a hand on each of Tony's shoulders, he gently guided him to the bed and waited until he got in.

Tony's eyes met his for the first time since he returned from his trip downstairs. He didn't speak, but the worry in his expression was easily read.

"I'll be here." Jethro walked around to the other side of the bed, laying on top of the covers and pulling a folded sheet from the night-table drawer. He flapped it out until it was only folded in half, then flicked it again so it floated down far enough to cover his feet.

Once Jethro was settled in, he glanced over at Tony. Although the younger man's eyes were closed, he was obviously still tense. Jethro reached out, tapping him on the shoulder. When he turned his head, Jethro rolled to face him and took Tony's right hand in his own. He brought both their hands up to rest between them on the bed, squeezing gently in reassurance.

"I mean it, Tony. I'm staying." Jethro rubbed his fingertips across Tony's knuckles, intertwining their fingers. "For however long you need me, I'm staying." Within minutes, both agents were asleep.


End file.
